Fans pick 88 books like Gypsy Hearts

Another darkly comic thriller that is stunningly original and filled with cinema-worthy characters.

The book opens when an African American Marine meets a ghastly end inside a bolted-shut Mercedes that is filled with deadly cobras. Two cops arrive at the scene, but only one survives the ordeal. Sonchai Jitpleecheep, a devout Buddhist, watches his partner die from a cobra bite and vows revenge.

He teams up with an American FBI agent brought in to work the case. They chase a killer through the atmospheric streets of Bangkok, navigating through a world of illicit drugs, colorful prostitutes, and infinite corruption. Sonchai is a complex protagonist, filled with wry humor and a dogged determination that the reader will admire all the way to its intriguing end.

Former US Senator, Augie Sangiamo, runs a political consulting company in Philadelphia, but his candidates are floundering.

When Augie agrees to take some illegal campaign donations from a local oil company, he gets his candidates within striking distance of victory, but this attracts the attention of the D.A., who wants Augie back in prison. However, the wily senator still has a few tricks up his sleeve. 

The dialogue is witty, the story filled with larger-than-life characters, and there’s a clever twist that sees the Philly goombahs pull a fast one on the feds. Ultimately, it’s a heartwarming tale of an old-time pol getting bailed out by his streetwise driver, whose paying Augie back for getting his father a job decades ago, an act that ensured Joey had a happy childhood.

With some similarities to Catch 22, The Jukebox Queen of Malta follows American intelligence officer, Rocco Raven, when he arrives in Malta as part of I-3, “the intelligence inside Intelligence.”

Malta’s a chaotic and desperate place, with bombs falling day and night because the Germans are trying to crush the Maltese into submission. Rocco falls for the ethereal Melita, who delivers jukeboxes to local restaurants. She embodies the spirit of Maltese people, who, astonishingly, put on a brave face as their world crumbles.

It’s a mesmerizing tale of love amidst war, a story about the resiliency of the human spirit. The book is a profoundly moving exploration of the redemptive power of love even when the world is spinning out of control around you.

When several transsexuals turn up dead in the garbage chutes of various hotels in Cincinnati, NY, and Philadelphia, the police match the murder dates to a major league baseball team visiting at the time.

Fingers point at Teddy Moon, an ace relief pitcher who is manic-depressive and suffers from occasional bouts of amnesia.

After being interrogated by the police, Teddy realizes he has to uncover the murderer because he is being set up. Although this dark, murder mystery was written before today’s #MeToo movement, our culture wars, and celebrity obsessions, this book is an edgy send-up of everything that is wrong with today's American society.

When Teddy tells one of his wives, he lives like a monk, her salty retort, “Yeah, Rasputin,” captures the essence of the wicked dialogue filling this book. 

I’m deeply affected by the poetic, haunted quest of a Korean adoptee who seeks his place in the world, shifting back and forth in time— Tee’s present in a Massachusetts rehab facility with his time in Prague. 

I respond to how present the awareness of being other is, while I can occasionally pretend to forget mine. I share the question about the past.

Tormented about being an adoptee, Tee left his family behind after facing the tragedy of an uncle’s suicide and a disturbing revelation from his father. In Prague, he has newfound happiness interrupted by a forced evacuation because of an epic flood that comes every 100 years.

Tee decides to remain with his lover: “If the water did rise and cut them off from the rest of Prague, they would be unreachable,” Tee thinks, “even from his pasts.”

With its roots in truth, this powerful novel brings us face to face with the insanity of war and how humans deal with the heartbreak of being torn from their homes, horrific deprivation, and betrayal. 

Cleverly structured and beautifully written with tenderly articulated characters, it presents a fresh eye on the Holocaust and its consequences, and had me continually asking myself how I would have endured, and what choices I would have found myself making, in that situation.

For years, I used to walk past the statues of St. Wenceslaus, František Palacký, and other Czech national heroes without giving them much thought. After reading this book, I came to appreciate how much Prague’s monuments can tell us about the city’s history. Their creators offered a variety of interpretations over the meaning of “Czechness”, and these monuments have inspired passionate debates about nationhood and religion ever since. The book also made me think about ways that monuments can exclude others and inspire hatred, and not just in Prague. Consider, for example, statues celebrating the Confederacy erected by white supremacists decades after the end of the Civil War. Many still dot my part of the country.

I first met Peter here in Chapel Hill, and we became fast friends. A Holocaust survivor from Prague, Peter often spoke to my classes about his experiences. What made his talks so powerful was his ability to remember what it was like to be an eight-year-old boy living in a city under Nazi occupation, and to tell a story that is humbling, moving, and real. Never have I seen a speaker connect better with young people. Peter first became inspired to begin telling his story to students and others after confronting a Holocaust denier, and his many presentations laid the foundation for this book. Part history, part memoir, A Boy’s Journey is also a story about family and the need for tolerance and empathy in our world today. 

Under Communism, two hundred thousand spectators gathered every five years to fill the largest concrete stadium in the world, Strahov Stadium, on a hill not far from Prague Castle. Why? To watch tens of thousands of their fellow countrymen perform synchronized gymnastics movements. Why? They were all taking part in a ritual, called the Spartakiad, which tells us much about Communist ideology as it evolved over time. For many participants and spectators, the Spartakiad was also an opportunity to visit their capital city and return with memories that were not part of the Communists’ ideological script. In Roubal’s telling, the Spartakiad also shows that Czechoslovak citizens were not simply cogs in a totalitarian machine. In 1960, for example, performers staying in Prague dormitories forced organizers to remove high-calorie butter cakes with cheese curd. They got beef goulash instead.

1980s Czechoslovakia and Australia—worlds apart—are the backdrops for two simultaneous stories I came to enjoy. Both stories incorporate young children being raised primarily by grandparents, the reasons for which are eventually explained, as are the connections between the two.

I liked the characters in this book, where the plot plays second fiddle to the characters and setting in many ways. I especially enjoyed the relationships. The sense of home and the strong love seeping from the actions of the guardian figures in this novel seem to welcome the reader, as well.